Lessons Learned
by ceilidh65
Summary: A 'missing scene' story, set after Dog Tags. McGee learns the many ups, and downs, of doggy-hood. As always, I hope you enjoy - please R&R if you do!


Lessons Learned by ceilidh

A/N: Hello again, all, and welcome to my latest story.

As usual, it's a 'missing scene'. Yes, another one!! Well, you know how much I love 'em! :o)

This one's from season five's Dog Tags. However, unlike Shot To Hell, which was an alternative version of events, this keeps to the original storyline.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who wondered how poor Tim was going to cope with having Jethro foisted onto him. Let's face it, neither of them looked too happy about it, did they?

Of course, by the start of In The Zone, they're clearly the best of friends - I just love that shot of Jethro 'kissing' McGee, it's just adorable! So here's my thoughts on how McGee, and McMutt, put their differences behind them.

Just to set the scene, this story takes place immediately after Dog Tags, so there are spoilers for that episode. As always, I hope you enjoy!!

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Lessons Learned

Okay, so he had a dog. Not exactly as he'd planned to get one, of course, but – yeah, he had a dog. A dog that, in his own unique way, was as unhappy, and unsure, about this unexpected 'arrangement' as he was.

Two nervously soulful eyes mirrored the uncertainty that Tim McGee knew his own face conveyed – making the awkwardness he already felt even worse as he crouched by the Porsche's open doorframe.

Curled up on the passenger seat, in a huddle of décor-saving blankets, Jethro was _not_ a happy puppy. If the city ever held a 'Moping Mutt Of The Year' contest – yeah, _this_ McMutt would win it by a mile.

More immediately, though, Tim had to convince that mutt, and himself, that he could make this seemingly impossible arrangement work.

"Look, Jethro, it – it isn't that I don't _want_ you, okay? You _do_ know that, right?" he said at last – a plaintive whine prompting him to tackle this problem as he'd learned to tackle everything else.

Tony may have razzed him mercilessly over it, but - well, that boy-scout honesty had always worked for him in the past. Tim just hoped it would work for him now.

He was just glad that there was no-one around to witness this somewhat one-sided conversation. If Tony had heard him talking like this, to a damn dog… jeez, he'd never hear the end of it. No wonder Tim now glanced so furtively around him, making sure the parking lot was safely empty, before turning back to study his newly acquired pet.

Another unhappy whine wasn't exactly encouraging, but Tim took a deep breath and stuck to his guns. Come hell, high water, and everything else that doggy-hood threw at him, he _would_ make this work.

"Yeah, I know with the start we got off to, that's kinda hard to believe," he continued softly – that famous honesty, and a genuine love of animals, giving fresh strength to what he said next.

"Yeah, that was a pretty bad day for both of us. You mauled _me_, and… well yeah, I shot _you, _but_… _well, you were _hurting_ me. I – I was hurt, and scared, and… well, I - I didn't know what else to do! I – I had to get you off me, see, and… well, yeah, like Tony said, thank God I was a lousy shot-"

Pausing for breath, and to fight back memories of that mind-splitting pain, Tim then frowned – those same memories reminding him that Jethro would have been as terrified that day as he'd been.

Tim could see that now, in the still nervous eyes that now swivelled under their brows to meet his. Jethro was a victim too. An innocent victim, caught in the fallout of human greed and human brutality. And however nervous he felt himself, the compassion that ruled his soul just couldn't stand for that.

"I guess you were kinda scared too, huh?" he said at last, pulling a face at how corny that sounded. He was talking to a _dog_, for crying out loud, and… whoa! That dog was actually _listening_ to him.

More importantly, he was responding too. So yes, however corny this all sounded, if it helped Jethro to bond with him, he'd gladly keep going.

"I – I mean, all these strange people crashing through your house, then me, pointing that gun at you… yeah, no wonder you were freaked. If I'd been you, I'd have been pretty freaked out too-"

A quizzical head-tilt was an encouraging sign, so Tim now cautiously took that progress further. Remembering the advice that Gibbs had given him earlier, he slowly moved his hand onto the side of the seat – letting it rest there, unthreateningly, so that Jethro could catch his scent, and make the next move.

It was hard, of course, not to flinch when he felt a wetly probing nose start to explore his fingers. But Tim kept calm – watching with astonishment, then open delight, as his patience finally paid off.

Those teeth that had mauled him so savagely now formed a reassuringly friendlier, panting grin – giving him just the confidence he needed to rest his hand, _very_ carefully, on top of Jethro's head.

Gibbs had told him not to rush things, to just take his time, and – yeah, he was fine with that. Judging by the gently nudging muzzle that now butted against his hand, Jethro was enjoying it too.

His ears were a favourite scratch-spot, apparently, at least Abby had said so, and – oh yes, this was better! _Much_ better! And when a happily slurping tongue brushed over his cheek, Tim didn't even try to hide his relief.

Okay, he didn't really want to know where that tongue had been before, or what it had been licking, or think how messy it felt – it didn't matter, because Tim knew he'd just been accepted into Jethro's world, and welcomed into it.

They'd both forged a crucial bond of trust between them which, just hours ago, had seemed impossible. Little wonder then that, as he drew Jethro into a happily returned hug, Tim McGee felt like celebrating.

And the first thing he'd do, the first gift he'd get, to mark the start of this beautiful friendship?

Well, as spiky metal jabbed into the side of his cheek, Tim dryly moved its cause to the top of his list. As sweet as it had been for Abby to donate it, that collar had to go, before it poked his eyes out.

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Tim McGee's first, and only, childhood pet had been a much loved, sadly short-lived hamster. Back then, of course, all he'd needed to keep Houdini happy was a cage, a wheel, and a few toys – none of which, Tim now dryly reflected, would be much use to a ninety pound German Shepherd.

To keep Jethro happy, he was going to need a big bed, an even bigger selection of toys, and – well yes, as he stood and stared at what lay ahead of him, Tim tagged on a rueful afterthought.

"We're gonna need a bigger trolley-"

Dryly imagining how the movie-mad DiNozzo would react to that reference, Tim then smiled – taking a barking grin to mean the same thing as he led Jethro into his equivalent of DisneyWorld.

Beds, toys, squeakies, collars, leashes, and… jeez, shelves of other stuff that he'd not even considered.

That was great news for Jethro, of course, but – well, rather less so for his new owner's bank balance. And all earlier, Jaws-joking aside – yes, he really _was_ going to need a bigger trolley. Maybe even two. Jethro's bed alone was going to fill the one he'd brought with them, let alone everything else.

First, of course, he had to find one that Jethro actually liked, and – yeah, this was gonna take a while.

Doggie-beds of every size, shape, style and extravagance lay in lines on the floor ahead of them. No wonder Jethro now glanced up at him, with the canine equivalent of a kid on Christmas morning. And, as Tim had already realised, there was only one way to find out which would suit him the best.

Quietly grateful that a family ahead of him had, literally, taken the lead, Tim now did the same – letting Jethro's leash rest loosely across his back to let him jump in, and out, without any restraint.

To his relief, several of glaring plaid, and one of multi-coloured spots, were thankfully ignored – a happy wuff, as he curled up in his final choice, causing Tim to grin too, in equally happy approval.

A plain brown snuggle-bed, with a removable wool lining. Simple, practical, and easy to maintain.

So far so good, then, and – jeez, once McMutt deigned to leave it, this bed was heavier than it looked. Still, at least that meant he could give the gym a miss this weekend, and just bond with Jethro instead – thoughts of exercise, and all he'd need to do it, moving him on now, to the next item on his list.

A nice, spike-free collar first, though, and – oh yes, that was perfect. Smooth, smart leather, and… hey, name-tags, too.

Finding one for 'Jethro' was going to be tricky, of course, he'd probably need to order it in, and – well, that famous luck of his distant Irish ancestors was clearly working overtime for him today.

Right in front of him hung a sensibly hard-wearing brass tag, with plenty of engraving room for those all important details. Perfect.

Adding that to an already jam-packed trolley, Tim then found that glorious luck striking again. Advice books on care, exercise and training. Oh yeah, he was going to need _plenty_ of those. And how kind of Jethro to keep his feet so snugly warm as he gave each one a thorough read-through.

"The German Shepherd is loyal, intelligent, and one of the most handsome of breeds-"

Pausing at that last part, Tim cast an appraising glance to what, he could now proudly observe, _was_ a truly beautiful dog.

"Loyal, intelligent and handsome, huh? Yeah, I'd agree with that-"

Giggling helplessly against the inevitable lick-fest that followed, Tim turned back to his reading. Gradually whittling a dozen books down to the most useful, informative three, he then smiled – fondly taking a leaf out of his little sister's book, for the dilemma that Sarah constantly encountered.

When you really couldn't decide what to get, just play safe, cover _all_ bases – and buy the whole lot.

His next stop, though – well, yes, however great the temptation, this would need a bit more restraint. Hell, there were more toys in this place than he, and Sarah, had shared through their whole childhoods.

Chewy-bones, stretchy-bones, tuggers, and more things that went '_squeak_' than Tim thought possible. For the sake of his new neighbours, not to mention his own sanity, he'd keep _those_ to a minimum.

Lifting each toy in turn to assess it, he then cast another glance down for that all important, final vote.

"What do you think, McMutt? Yes? No? Wait 'til Christmas?"

Two 'squeaks' and four 'wuffs' later, Tim gingerly steered a now laden trolley into the next aisle – breathing a silent sigh of relief that this back and bank-breaking shopping trip was coming to an end.

Bowls, food, doggy treats, a grooming kit, _with_ the right shampoo, and he was finally done – the cashier who greeted him at the checkout seemingly used to breathless, newly bankrupt dog-owners.

"First time here, sir?"

"How did you guess?" Tim grinned, just as easily, back at her while he keyed in his card – realization of what he'd bought, and his only means to get it all home, prompting a rueful afterthought.

"You, um… you _can_ do home delivery, right?"

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Owning a dog, Tim McGee ruefully noted, was an expensive, not to mention exhausting, business. Aside from its cost, when he'd seen the amount of stuff he'd bought – hell, he'd almost passed out.

So had the pet-store's delivery-driver – hence the generous tip that had further dented his bank balance.

And Jethro's reaction, to all this selfless spending on his behalf? His way of saying thank you?

Well, in this first lesson of Jethro 101, Tim now dryly added another 'ex' word to its vocabulary. Owning a dog was expensive, exhausting – and, at this moment, damn exasperating too.

Back at the pet-store, when Jethro had jumped into that snuggle-bed, it had taken him several minutes to coax him out of it. Now, though – well, it was 'bye-bye' luxury snuggle-bed, and 'hello' to even more luxurious sofa – prompting a groan of parental protest that steadily rose, in both frustration and octaves.

"But you liked it in the store!!"

Yes, it sounded petty, and petulant. Little wonder, then, that Jethro completely ignored him. Instead, to another futile groan, he stretched his entire length into lines of comfy cushions – a panting grin of teeth, and a fourway show of claws, effectively quashing all thought of argument.

Knowing better than to even try, Tim just rolled his eyes and turned back to his unthanked task – a hopeful squeeze of Mr Squeaky provoking an idle glance of interest, and the briefest flick of tail, but no fruitful movement.

Even as he shook his head, though, Tim couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. If he'd been Jethro, and given the choice between sleeping in a doggie-bed or a spacious sofa – yeah, as one who loved the luxury of cosy home comforts, he'd have claimed that couch too.

Besides, Tim noted as he dropped gratefully into it, he still had his favoured easy-chair. _And_ his footstool. And there was no way that Jethro could fit on top of that.

Dog-trainers would have thrown their hands up in despair, of course, at such pampering, but – well, as an aching twinge in his arm reminded him, this was no ordinary dog that he'd adopted.

As he'd learned, so very painfully, Jethro wasn't a cute, fluffy puppy. Not the household pet that you could pick up at the nearest rescue centre. He was an ex-Navy search dog, specifically trained to attack. Tim knew it would be foolish, in fact it would be damn stupid, to try and tell himself otherwise.

Breaking years of military training would take time, patience, and a _lot_ of hard work, so – yes, this seemed a rather good time to settle down for a bit of morale-boosting research. And rainy nights like this one had just been made for curling up by the fire with a good book.

Or three, Tim dryly corrected himself, glancing down at the boxful of 'How to-' guidebooks at his feet.

Still, it was way too early to go to bed yet – and he'd sleep a lot better after a bit more boning up.

Smiling at how apt that expression was, he lifted the nearest book into his lap, and started to read – a distant rumble of thunder causing him to start slightly, and glance around, but nothing more.

Jethro's reaction, though, wasn't quite so calm. To Tim's surprise, and alarm, it was the exact opposite.

Soft whimpers grew into a whine, followed by a salvo of frantic barks as Jethro leapt off the couch – the sight of him, skidding across the floor in an all-out run as amusing as it was increasingly worrying.

Wooden floorboards, and paws with claws, was _not_ the best combination for a dog to run on – especially, Tim now worriedly noted, when that dog was skidding across it so fast that he slid clear into the kitchen and thudded into the fridge. Tim's only reassurance as he, too, sprinted into his kitchen, was that Jethro was already up and moving again, sliding under the kitchen table as if making for fourth base.

Another clap of thunder, louder, and rather closer than the last, explained why. Even the biggest, bravest ex-Navy search dog, it seemed, could still be scared of storms. Now all he had to do was try and coax his astraphobic dog from under his kitchen table.

Stretched out on his stomach, Tim couldn't help but ruefully recall that he'd been here before – many years ago, of course, when a storm just like this one had sent _him_ bolting under the table.

Mom had coaxed him out, eventually, with chocolate chip cookies, irresistibly fresh from the oven. He didn't dare use that for Jethro, of course. Even he knew that you _never_ gave chocolate to a dog.

So with the calm patience he'd inherited from his mother, plain doggiebix would have to do instead.

"Jethro? Hey, c'mon, it's okay, it's just a storm, it's not gonna hurt you. C'mon now, it's okay, it's not gonna hurt you, Jethro, because… well, I'm here. and I'm never going to let anything hurt you, right? Yeah, it's okay, Jethro, there's nothing to be scared of, nothing's gonna hurt you in here. I promise. Come on now, Jethro, it's okay. It's okay, I'm not going to let _anything_ hurt you, okay? Not _anything_-"

It took several minutes, and two handfuls of doggiebix, but at last, Jethro inched nervously forward – giving Tim just enough grip on his collar to ease him the rest of the way, into a carefully gentle hug.

The security of a cuddling hug, and soothing assurances of safety, had worked wonders for him. Twenty years later, to Tim's open relief, he found his mother had passed on another priceless gift – that discovery, and a sweetly slurpy kiss, giving him more confidence than any number of books.

Tomorrow, of course, he'd still read those books anyway, and find out what he _should_ have done. But for now, as Jethro's head rested trustingly on his shoulder, Tim just smiled and closed his eyes – happy just to sit here, in his new home, holding his new dog, and simply savour this moment.

If this was doggy-hood, in all its countless extremes, and with all its hard learned lessons – yeah, he could so easily learn to love every second of it.


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